


Foreign

by ninalanfer



Series: Nihlus the Survivalist [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninalanfer/pseuds/ninalanfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The start of something new. Drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



He should have known better than to agree to a co-operation mission with the turian military. He could just about touch the lack of intelligence from the special ops team that was to accompany him to the surface. They all sat there with their weapons in their laps and their helmets on like replications of each other. It was hard to imagine he once had wanted to become like them.

As it turned out though, not everyone in the squad was as mindless and orderly as the rest of them. They had been backed into a corner and he and one of the black and red armored turians dove into a room on the second floor as his comrades where being slowly surrounded a level down. Saren didn't have time for this. He needed to move on, reach the data cache on the other side of the complex and get on with his mission.

He was just about to scout on ahead to the next door when the seventeen year old boy threw his helmet off and gripped the front of Saren's armor, mandibles flaring, showing all his pointy teeth, an animalistic growl permeating his chest.

"We are not leaving them in there!" he raved in his face, his stark green eyes glowing with rage and determination as white armor scraped hard against the concrete wall behind Saren's back.

At first he was on the verge of becoming stunned. No one had talked like this to him in a long while. That a hardly worthy of his weapon recruit would do so was ridiculous. A second later he got angry. Who did he think he was? He grabbed the boy's wrist in one hand, his gauntlet clad talons wrapped around the unprotected neck and turned sideways. The young turian only had time to yelp in shock before his face found the surface of the metal crate next to them.

“We don't have time for them!” he growled as he put pressure on the boy's arm. “They're not important!”

White striped mandibles pulled high into his face in pain, but he didn't relent, his gaze catching him from the corner of his eyes, still sharp and stubborn.

“They're not expendable,” he ground out.

They stood like that for a while. The brown turian with his face crushing into the crate and Saren keeping him there with a vice-grip. Locked in a battle of the wills, glares slowly filling the air around with something easily ignitable.

Saren had to admit he admired the youngster's tenacity. People usually covered when they met him. This was refreshing. His mandibles snapped once against his cheeks and he took a step back and released the soldier.

“You have five minutes,” he said, his voice flat, showing how little he cared if the boy succeeded in his challenge or not. “Figure out a way to save your friends _and_ get me to the data cache before the VI wipes it clean and we have a deal.”

And he did.

An hour later, when they all came back alive and with the information safely tucked into a pocket in his armor, Saren was still impressed with how he had solved it. Not that he'd ever tell him, he had an image to protect after all.

When he turned to leave the squad to catch their breath and congratulate themselves on a job well done he felt fingers touching his elbow.

“Sir.” It was the boy addressing him. “Thank you for giving me a chance back there.” He reached his arm out.

Saren looked from the outstretched hand to the white striped face and back before he grasped him by the elbow. He huffed and nodded in response, but then he got an idea.

“What's your name, soldier?” he asked.

“Kryik, sir,” the boy responded. “Nihlus Kryik.”


End file.
